Sober
by thought x crime
Summary: A different take on the whole Squall and Laguna father/son relationship... definately not what you'd expect.


"Sober" -- by Allora Atwater  
  
A/N: Squall is about the only character I haven't written much about. Probably cause I don't really like him. *ducks at shoes being thrown at her* HEY! I just feel like he's in the spotlight too much. He reminds me of a walking teen melodrama. He's still cool, he probably has the best characterization throughout the entire game. Maybe that's why I don't like to write about him, he's got a rounded personality unlike most of the other characters. Oh well, thanks for all the shoes!   
  
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VIII belongs to the demi-gods known as Squaresoft, and "Sober" is credited to Tool.   
  
  
**There's a shadow just behind me,  
shrouding every breath I take,  
making every promise empty,  
pointing every finger at me.**  
  
It was always obvious. The possibility had manifested in the recesses of his mind for quite some time now. Aloof he was, but stupid he was not. He was a keen observer who paid close attention to details. Not that his sharp instincts needed to be implemented as such; any fool could see the striking similarities between father and son. It wasn't that which hurt him so profoundly; it was the fact that even after their meeting, no one dared reveal the truth. Did he look like a fool to be trifled with? He had not spent seventeen confined years on earth to be kept in the dark about his origins.  
  
Who would have known that their first communion as blood relations would be so bleak? There was nothing that could be said, nothing that could be done, to rectify the past. Many times he wished he would have made the advance and come forth with his knowledge of their common bond. Anything to pacify the swell of rage he now felt. This was perhaps the worst possible confabulation he could have imagined. He never intended to step aside with a smile of satisfaction and let bygones be bygones, but this wasn't what he had in mind.  
  
**Waiting like a stalking butler  
who upon the finger rests.  
Murder now the path called "must we"  
just before the son has come.**  
  
He hated the way his comrades regarded him with their sympathetic gestures. He had gone through hell and back in a month's time and they think him to be weak enough to get choked up over something as trivial as this? No, he was stronger than they gave him credit for. He wouldn't accept their pity over a loss he knew not how to mourn. Were his thoughts filled with grievances? No. Was his soul filled with remorse? No. And yet, some nagging contradiction in the back of his mind tugged the strings of his conscience. He would never know what could have been.  
  
He supposed they would expect him to shed a tear, or to be burdened with an infinite melancholy. They certainly took it harder than he did. He did not care about the man himself; just a waste of flesh and bone, a selfish fool who could not be restrained by the bonds of responsibilty and reason. Maybe his words were harsh, but they reflected his inner torment, the tide of emotions that threatened to swallow his dignity.  
  
Would he want to know how things might have ended if not cut short? Could he have grown to love and respect his father? As much as he resented the feeling, the burden weighed heavily on his mind. Not so much the loss of an irreplacable figure, but the fact that he felt no sorrow over the death of Laguna Loire.   
  
*Why can't we not be sober?  
I just want to start this over.  
Why can't we drink forever.  
I just want to start things over.*  
  
If he had the chance to start over, would he even have tried to mend the broken bridges? Was there any reason to mourn this inevitable occurance? Perhaps not, but now, he knew, he would live out the rest of his years questioning his own motives, questioning the kind of man his father truly was. Squall reached out a tentative hand to brush away the film of dust that had gathered in the grooves of the headstone.  
  
He wanted to be buried next to his wife, on the outskirts of Winhill. It was terribly presumable, and yet such a cliched way to go down in history. Lying next to the one you love... what a condemned fate. They will share the same earth, only inches apart, but never be able to unite. Close, but not close enough for comfort. Close, and yet so far away. Squall sighed, standing atop his parents' grave and letting the wind rustle his hair.  
  
*I am just a worthless liar.  
I am just an imbecile.  
I will only complicate you.  
Trust in me and fall as well.*  
  
There was no time to cry for a lost cause, no time to ponder the life that could have been. Squall had no room left in his heart for an alienated father and a mother he never knew. What was the point in missing something you never had? Why wait for the impossible? It was, in theory, a sad event. But it didn't strike any chords of regret. He turned on his heel and walked away, tossing something behind his shoulder which hit Laguna's headstone straight on.  
  
*I will find a center in you.  
I will chew it up and leave,  
I will work to elevate you  
just enough to bring you down*  
  
Shining in the pale moonlight was Griever, a sterling silver ring symbolizing a marker on a grave.  
  
*Trust me.*  
  
A/N: I did this one a loooong time ago actually o.O I don't really like it but I did want to show a different spin on the Laguna/Squall relationship. This will be my last fic for a awhile now, sorry everyone! I have dance practice every day of the week this week, and I'm two pieces behind on my art portfolio, so I need to catch up pronto! Next up is Part 4 of "A Stab in the Dark"! I'll have it out in about a week ^o^  
  
  
  
  



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